Heroes
by SignsofSam
Summary: My teacher said that heroes don’t always have to be famous, and I said I know, I live with one every day.”
1. Take

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters to this story. I only wish smiles

**Author's notes: **My first Supernatural story...and I hope not my last. Please review!

One:

_Cleveland, Ohio, October, 1995_

Dean Winchester sighed as he glanced at the clock, wondering where his father was. Sam was sitting on one of the hotel beds, working through his math homework, and their dad was supposed to be bringing dinner home after he visited the widow of the latest case, but he was nearly thirty minutes late, and Dean knew that Sam was hungry.

"Dad…" Dean mumbled, eyes still on the clock, watching as every second ticked by. "C'mon, Dad, not again-"

Especially not tonight. There was exactly one-half of a can of spam, and Dean was pretty sure the expiration date had come and gone on it. If necessary, Dean could go steal a small can of spaghettios, but he wouldn't have any dinner tonight.

That was okay, he thought to himself, eyes quickly going to Sam, still eagerly interested in his homework, biting his bottom lip as he attempted a problem. He gripped his pencil hard as it pushed into the paper, nervously making a couple of marks before writing in a final solution. He grinned to himself, and Dean turned away before Sam could catch him looking.

Dean wished he could be like his brother-wide-eyed, innocent to all the demons in the world. Sure, Sam knew what his father did for a living and sure, he knew how to kill all types of demons, but Sam wasn't lost in this world; he didn't define himself by it, as his father and brother did. Sam was determined that he'd never define himself by hunter-standards alone.

"Hey, Dean?"

The fifteen-year-old-sixteen in two weeks, he reminded himself- looked over at his brother, coming when he beckoned. "What is it?" he tried to act cool, calm, and collected, but his insides were squishing together in a twisted nervousness, secretly loving the fact that he might be able to help his brother. Dean was smart, academically-his teachers always said that if he applied himself more, his grades would reflect how smart he truly was-but, he didn't hold a candle (or a torch, for that matter) to Sammy's brains.

"Did I do this right? I know I'm supposed to figure out what two things will give me x-squared minus nine, but are those right?" Sam asked, pointing to each step on the paper. Dean looked it over; the answer looked right.

"You can always go back and foil your answer, make sure when you multiply these two that you get that equation," Dean answered cryptically, giving Sam enough room to figure out if his answer was indeed correct independently.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Thanks, Dean!" Sam turned back to his work, and once again Dean was left with watching the clock, cursing his father for every minute he was late. He knew- he _knew-_ they needed food, and he also knew he was supposed to get it and bring it home by a reasonable time, and yet here he was, late.

Sometimes Dean wondered if he could count on the man at all.

It was a thought that often entered Dean's head-especially when it came to the question of whether the man could truly care for his sons. This was one of countless times he had left them stranded, without use of the car, without money, without any way to survive should he not show up, to go on some hunting expedition. And Dean understood the importance of hunting-he truly did- but sometimes he wondered if it was taking the top spot in his father's mind.

"Dean?" The teen's green eyes immediately went to his younger brother. "When's Dad coming?"

"I…I don't know, Sammy. He'll be here soon."

_I hope_.

------

"I'm sorry, Sam, but this was all there was to eat," Dean tried to explain, setting the can of spam in front of his brother. "I know it's not much, but it should tide you over until Dad gets here with some real food."

"_IF_ he ever gets here," Sam corrected his brother, scrunching his face in disgust at the spam, but immediately correcting himself when he saw the look of disappointment on his brother's face. Not disappointment in Sam, but in himself, for not being able to provide more for the boy he was supposed to be looking after. "Thanks, Dean. I know you wish you could do more, but you're doing a good job."

Dean smiled, turning away from the table, back to the kitchenette area. He didn't want Sam to see the pain, the fear that he wasn't good enough. What if it was _his_ fault that Sam wasn't getting to eat? What if his father had told him that he'd be gone until Saturday, not Friday, and Dean used all the food they had-

"He said they'd be back Friday," Sam called, instantly reassuring his brother. He closed his eyes and his nose, thinking to himself, _I can do this, I can do this_ as he swallowed the spam.

"Sam, I-"

Dean didn't get any farther as the door burst open with a resounding, sickening _snap_, black-vested officers rushing into the room, guns drawn. Thankfully, the only weapon Dean knew was in the room was the .44 hidden behind the dresser. He pulled Sam up from his seat, knocking over the table in the process, trying to get as much distance between his brother and the cops as possible. "Sammy, go!" he shouted, eyes on the many cops coming towards them, each shouting for them to halt, to stay where they were.

He turned to push his brother into the bathroom, away from the cops. A big, beefy hand grabbed his wrist, and he turned, punching the guy in the face, followed by a jab with his elbow. He quickly wrenched himself free, once again trying to close the door, isolating them, giving them a chance to escape through the window Dean knew was over the bathroom. It'd be a long jump, but both of them were used to it.

And then he was grabbed by the back of his shirt, pushed against the wall, face turning to face the inside of the bathroom, eyes connecting with Sam's. _I'm sorry_, his eyes say, and Sammy just smiles sadly, wanting to tell his brother that this isn't-this never was-his fault.

Before he can, cold handcuffs are wrapped around his brother's wrists and he's taken out, leaving the eleven-year-old by himself. A woman cop steps forward, lowering her gun. "Son, why don't you come with me?" she said in a whisper, almost trying to be soothing.

She wasn't.

"Where are you taking my brother?" Sam asked, completely ignoring her request, tucking himself in between the toilet and bathtub, green eyes boring into the woman's.

"He's gonna go with us to the police station. If you come with me, sweetie, I'll make sure you two see each other."

"Lady, don't coddle me." His voice is harsh, but the woman needs to know that he won't succumb to her weak-minded pleas. "And, by the way, you aren't my mother, so don't call me _son_." His father raised him better.

-----

Dean sat in the plastic chair, picking absent-mindedly at the cast over his left hand. It was the only reason he wasn't with his father tonight-he had broken his hand in four place, and his ulna, when they were fighting against an angry spirit in Monroe. He was sure he looked like a punching bag, with a bad bruise around his left eye, on his temple, a small, deep cut in the middle of it, a long laceration trailing from his left cheek down his neck, ending where the bruising began, continuing down to his broken ribs. He had three lacerations that were from where the angry spirit had sent him flying through a window, the glass raking through his side, leaving him battered and bruised. He was supposed to be taking some heavy-duty painkillers, but he hadn't…not this time. He had been hoping his father would take him on the hunt, but the old man had left without him, giving him specific directions to take care of Sam.

Some job he was doing. His brother was God-only-knows where, and it was Dean's fault. He wasn't fast enough, wasn't smart enough to think of another exit, wasn't strong enough to fight the cops off of him…

He barely looked at the officer standing near the door, ready to catch him should he try to escape. Instead, he resigned himself to the thought that he was stuck in the room, without Sam, without knowing if his father was even alive.

The door opened, and the woman cop he had seen before he was taken away from the hotel came into the room, sitting across from him, a battered file and a store-brand coke in her hand. She carefully opened the file, her eyes on the paper, as if reading quickly.

Dean relaxed in the chair, his face quickly morphing into cool, calm, and cocky, the look he saved especially for cops.

"You want a drink?" The woman nodded to the coke, looking at him.

He didn't move.

"I'm sure you're wondering where your brother is."

"I would think that's obviously," he answered, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Well, how about you cooperate with me, and I get Sam to you quicker," she offered, and he shrugged, letting her think that she had the upper hand in this interrogation. _Yeah, right_. "Okay, Dean, why don't you start off by telling me why your family came to Cleveland."

"I believe it was vampires-maybe werewolves. My father didn't tell me much," Dean snapped, smirking for effect. "Why are you holding him?"

"This isn't I-ask-a-question, you-ask-a-question, Dean. This is answer my questions, and I might let you talk to the social worker together," the woman explained to the teen, her tone terse and unyielding.

"How about you let me see my brother and I don't say a word to you? Or, better yet, 'gee, officer, I don't know what's going on. I'm only a kid'. That's my answer-for everything."

"Dean, being uncooperative isn't going to help your brother, and it certainly isn't going to help you-"

"Lady, leave me alone. I mean it. I have absolutely _nothing_ to say to you."

Emma Graves shook her head in disappointment, standing up, leaving the file and the coke on the table. "Your social worker will be here to talk to you shortly. And I suggest you talk to him-he's the one that can split you and your brother up, ship you across the country from one another, make it so you never see each other again. Just remember that."

She slammed the door, and Dean let out a soft chuckle.

And then her final words sank in. _Split you and your brother up…never see each other again_. No, no one was going to do that to them._I'll just take Sammy and run if they try to do that…or, if they try to take us from Dad. I won't let them_.

Dean hung his head, once again defeated, disappointed. He couldn't deal with life on his own-he wouldn't have a purpose that way. With Dad, Sammy was his first purpose, hunting his second. _Protect Sammy_ was what had been drilled into his head after his mother had died, when Dean had been forced to grow into a man in mere minutes…

When his life changed.

When his innocence was lost to the world of bad he was suddenly aware of-the world he desperately tried to keep his brother from, the task he failed at many and many times.

Sometimes, he wondered what his life would be like if his mother had lived. He wondered if his father would hold a steady job, if he'd actually be more interested in academics than hunting…if his father would even hunt.

But you couldn't change the past…time and reality just didn't work that way, no matter how much you needed them to.

------------

"How'd it go with Dean Winchester, Emma?" Bryan Ellis asked the woman as she sat at her desk, pulling out a bottle of Advil and a water.

"He wasn't telling me anything. You need to get him to say something about his father-about what his father's been doing to them-or else we can't hold him. But those kids-did you see Dean? He looked like a punching bag for his father. I know that man's been hurting them."

"What about the other one, Sam?"

"He just screamed the whole time about how he wanted to see his brother and if we didn't let him see his brother, he was going to call a lawyer because we can't hold him and we need parental consent to question him-I swear the kid's gonna be a lawyer when he grows up," Emma answered. "I was waiting for you to get through with Dean before I talk to the father. I want some hard evidence on the man-I don't want him anywhere near those kids."

"Let me go have a conversation with Dean, and I'll tell you what I find out, okay?" Emma nodded, pointing to the correct interview room. Through the observation window, Bryan could see Dean pacing the room, clearly favoring his left side. He completely ignored Will, who was in the room with him, instead worried eyes glanced every which-way; Bryan could only assume he was looking for a way out.

He opened the door, walked into the room with the caged animal, and began to prepare to do battle.

------

Dean wondered what his dad could have done to get them in so much trouble. John stayed away from the cops, from most things illegal that would bring them to the cops. Except for the occasional theft, credit card scam, grave desecration-

He had been here before, when he was nine, on his first hunting trip with his father, he had gotten hurt-two long, painful scratches down his back-and the doctor had reported it as abuse to the cops. There was so much drama afterwards-social workers, police officers, and everyone blamed his father, despite his adament claims that his dad had nothing to do with the reason why he was hurt. No one believed him then; he was just a skinny, short kid that couldn't possibly fight off an attacker that weighed as much as his father.

It looked like, once again, that no one believed him.

"Thinking hard there, son?" Dean jumped, glaring at the man who had come into the room, fists coming up, his feet automatically going into a defensive position. "Hold on there, son; I'm not here to fight you-"

"But wrongful imprisonment is okay with you?" Dean snapped, clearly agitated.

"Now, I think that's a little low, son-"

"Call me son again and I'll kick your ass."

"Fine, Dean, why don't you sit down?" Bryan motioned to the table behind him, and, reluctantly, Dean sat. "So, what was your family doing here in Cleveland? Especially on a school night?"

"I don't know; we had our homework from school; we were going to be back in on Monday."

"I saw the homework-yours didn't look very complete."

"I hadn't got to it yet. I was helping Sammy with his."

"And your father?"

"Was gone. He had business to attend to that was neither mine nor Sammy's concern."

"Why was there so little food in the motel, Dean? You were trying to feed your brother spam."

"Dad was coming home with food; he was running a little late, and Sam got hungry. We didn't have anything in the motel because we were leaving tonight; we had eaten all the food."

"What about you, Dean?"

"What about me?"

"You look like you've been used for someone's punching bag."

"Yeah-your cops. Did you see what they did to my arm?" He raised his right arm, and Bryan could immediately see the bruises from where one of the cops had grabbed him a little too roughly. "I should sue. I could get wrongful imprisonment, abuse-God, this police department could end up owing me millions-"

"Now, I think you're getting ahead of yourself, bud. No one's gonna be able to tell that bruise apart from the ones that are all over your body. Why don't you tell me how you got those."

"I was fighting an angry spirit." Nothing was better than the truth, his father would say. No one would ever believe the truth.

"Dean, don't lie to me," Bryan replied, sitting in the chair across from the teen, opening his file. "March of '89, Maine Coast Memorial Hospital--four broken fingers, severe conscussion, dehydration. You were hospitalized for three days before mysteriously disappearing. July of '90, Boise Regional Medical Center--a broken leg, three broken ribs, an infection in a cut on your side, and a mysterious alcohol poisoning. You were hospitalized for nine days, again, once again mysteriously disappeared. April, '93, Decatur Memorial Hospital-severe pneumonia, kidney failure, collapsed lung, hospitalized for nearly a month, and you nearly had to have one of your kidneys removed. Plus there's visits to more than a dozen seedy medical clinics all across the country. Oh, and here- October '95, St. Vincent Charity Hospital-four broken bones in your hand, broken ulna-"

"I get the picture. I'm clumsy."

"Dean, why don't you just tell me he hurts you?" Bryan asked sternly, nearly pleading. "I could help you! You don't have to be frightened of me-"

"My dad has hit me a total of one time in my entire life-and that's because I took the car without asking, then wrecked it, and then tried to blame it on him. One time in sixteen years, and then he felt so bad afterwards he smothered me with too much love. So, yes, he really hits me. Every damn day."

"Dean, how did you get all these injuries then?"

"Like I said, I'm clumsy," Dean answered, smirking. "Can I please see my brother? Sam's probably freaking out being away from me and Dad. Is that one of your tactics? Not letting me see my brother? That isn't going to do anything for me-it's just gonna make me hate you more."

"How about I let you see your brother, and you answer my questions, okay? I'm just trying to help you-"

"You think you're helping, but you're only hurting me…something my father would never do," Dean chided the man, looking at his hands, absentmindedly playing with a piece of his cast. "But, bring me Sam, and I'll answer any questions you have."

Bryan nodded, standing up. "And I'll see if I can get you two boys some food. You probably haven't eaten in awhile." He was trying to imply something, but Dean was no longer listening, eyes once again focused on his cast. He heard the door open and close, but he still didn't look up, concentrating on what he was going to say to Sam to reassure him that everything was going to be okay…

or maybe something to reassure himself.

----------

"Dean!" Sam yelled as the door opened, the young kid launched himself towards his brother. Dean hugged him tight, fighting off the pain of Sam's arm pressing into his side, just glad to have his brother with him. "They wouldn't let me see Daddy and that man was really mean to me and said that Daddy was hitting me and you and he isn't…"

"I know, Sammy. He's not gonna hurt you anymore, okay?"

"Dean, where's Daddy? Why won't they let me see daddy?"

"I don't know, Sam. Why won't you let us see our father?" Dean turned his attention back to the social worker, passing the coke to Sam. "Drink up, buddy," he instructed his brother, giving him a smile.

"Your father's being held-I don't know what for," Bryan replied. "How'd you get hurt?"

"I got in a fight, went through a window. I landed on my hand," Dean explained. "Dad was so mad afterwards."

"A fight? At school?"

"In a bar. My dad was out-of-town, and I should have been watching Sam, but I saw a hot girl."

"You expect me to believe that you did all this in a fight?" Bryan asked, motioning to Dean's injuries. "I'm not a fool."

"Believe what you want, sir, but that's what happened. Now can we please see our father?"

"I'm sorry, not yet. Why don't we talk about home. Where's home for you, Sam?"

Sam looked at Dean, who nodded to him. "Alta Vista, Kansas."

"Where do you go to school?"

Sam again looked at Dean before answering. "Wabaunsee County Junior High. Dean goes to the senior high school there."

"Do you have friends?"

"Of course."

"And your father-is he at home very often?"

"He's there just about everyday."

"Just about?" Dean eyed his brother, who looked sad, disappointed in himself.

"Sammy, why don't you finish telling him," Dean said to the boy softly, rubbing his back. "You haven't said anything wrong."

"He goes to a friend's house one weekend out of the month, to hunt. In Minnesota. Dean takes care of me-but the last time Dad went, Dean went to the bar, and that happened." Dean was proud of his brother for such a story-he connected all the loose ends in a way that was uniquely Sam.

"Sam, Dean-I don't believe that. There are too many incidences to believe that your father didn't do this-"

"He didn't!" Dean exclaimed, slamming his casted fist onto the table, feeling it crack and splinter, along with the bones that has begun to heal. "My father would never hit me! And I damn well know he'd never hit Sam-because if he tried, I'd kill him. So let us see him!"

"I'm sorry, Dean, I can't-" Dean shoved the man against the wall, his good arm pressed against the social worker's neck, cutting off his airway.

"You can, you sonuvabitch; you just don't want to. Do you enjoy splitting families apart? Do you enjoy the kid's misery? Huh?" Dean didn't feel Will pulling at his arm, or Sammy shouting for him to let the man go. The security guard's baton hit his left side, and he gasped, letting go of the social worker.

Sam wrapped his arms around his brother, giving him a smile. "Calm down…it's all right now," he whispered, tears running down his face. "Dean…"

Bryan was trying to catch his breath, looking at the teenager on the ground, clutching his side. Bryan could see blood start to speckle the light blue t-shirt. "Will, go get a first-aid kit. I think Mr. Winchester has pulled a few stitches."

"Dean…" Sam murmured, fingers barely touching his brother's wounded side. "Can I look, Dean?"

The elder brother nodded, winching as Sam lifted the t-shirt. "I…I'm sorry," he murmured to the social worker, pushing the pain away. "But you can't break up my family. Not after I've worked so hard to keep it together."

"Dean, I have to do what I feel will best keep you safe. And right now, that's keeping you as far away from your father as possible."


	2. Becoming

**Disclaimer:** How I wish I owned it, but I don't, so I'm just borrowing

**Author's Note**: You people are amazing. I get back from working, look in my inbox, and see all these wonderful notes from all you wonderful people. You have no idea how much encouragement those words are. I just wanted to tell you all thank you, and say that it might be awhile before chapter three is up (hopefully no longer than a week). It's the last one (there will be an epilogue though), very angsty and dramatic, and taking me a long time to piece together. Hopefully, it'll be up by Saturday of next week at the latest. Thank you for reading, and I hope this holds up to all your expectations from the first chapter. Oh, and yes, I might say the word **hero** one too many times...maybe :)

**Two: Becoming**

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, April, 1996_

Six months. They had kept them from their father for six months, stuck in some run-down hair with twelve other snot-nosed kids that came and went. Dean looked up from the table he was sitting at, trying to keep his attention on mind-numbing homework. He was itching to get out, to do his job, but he had a feeling that if he snuck out, that man-Bryan what's-his-face, the one that had gotten them in this mess in the first place-he would take Sam away from him.

And Dean couldn't have that.

The back door of the house slammed open, and Dean fought to keep his irritation down. He couldn't stand these other kids. The younger ones-they all cried about the fact that they got shuffled around and that they had to go to school and Dean just wanted to yell at them that they should be lucky to be living. He'd seen a lot of people die who would give anything to be in _their_ place. The older ones were constantly moaning and groaning about how they were never going to get adopted and how they were poor and the kids at school never liked them-again, Dean wanted to yell. How immature were these kids? He hunted demons, vampires, anything evil, went to school, and took care of his little brother since he was four.

And yet, as much as those other twelve kids annoyed and irritated him, he was the first one in line to defend them from their drunken foster father when he came in latest night looking for something to hit. Dean chuckled slightly at the irony; he and Sam had been taken away from their father because he supposedly 'hit' them, yet that's what their _caretaker_ was inflicting on them. And every time he complained, Bryan would kind of eye him, giving him the I-don't-believe-you look, and tell him it wasn't right to tell lies.

As if the bruises couldn't speak for themselves.

"Dean? Have you have anything to eat today?" He looked up, glaring at his foster mother, Elle. She-she tried to pretend all the bad stuff didn't happen. All the beatings, the days of starvation, the tiny closet he was forced to stay in when he was 'bad'…she tried to pretend it just…wasn't there. "I know-honey, it didn't mean-"

"He never means to, but yet he does it," Dean snapped, closing his book. "Kinda sounds like what they accused my father of…but, you know, only kinda, cause he would never hit me." He left the table, retreating upstairs to the room he shared with Sam and Doug and Steve. The other two weren't so bad; they were siblings, so they related to Dean and Sam a lot. Only, Doug and Steve had a real reason they were here. Their mother had been pimping them out. Dean could face a demon head-on, no problem, but the nightmares he had to hear from the two-those made him cringe in disbelief.

He tossed the book on his bed-top bunk, of course, and looked at the picture of him, Sam, and the father, at Pastor Jim's place two years ago. He wondered what his father was doing, if he was still searching for his sons…

And then the dreaded fear came that John didn't even care. He was glad the boys were gone, giving him the freedom to hunt all day, all the time-

He pushed the thoughts out of his head as the door opened and Sam came in. "Hey, kid."

"Dean, are you okay? I-you didn't…you didn't come in last night, and I-"

"Bastard made me sleep in that closet. I'm fine, Sammy, I promise."

"You always promise, and you're always not. Where'd he hit you this time? Your back, your arm, your ribs-" Darren's favorite spots-the newly healed.

"Sam, I told you I was fine. Just leave it."

"Where's Dad?"

"I don't know!" Dean shouted, trying, trying so hard, to keep his cool. He'd been trying for the past six months, and it was slowly wearing away at him. God, he was trying, but it just hurt.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, sitting on his neatly made bed.

"You might not want to do that. You know he gets angry-"

"And I also now that if he tried, you'd beat the shit out of him if he even came near me. You know you're my hero?" Dean laughed, looking over at his brother with skepticism written on his face. "We had to write a paper, in History, about modern day heroes; you know, Martin Luther King, Jr. or Dwight Eisenhower or-"

"I get the picture, Sammy."

"Well, anyway. Everyone else did someone like that, I get up there, and my paper is about you. It's about my big brother who would give his life for me, my big brother that takes punishments for me and protects me and would never leave me behind. Guess what I got on my paper?"

"What, Sammy?"

"A 100. My teacher said that heroes don't always have to be famous, and I said I know, I live with one every day."

And Dean almost cried.

--------

Sam shivered in the bed, hearing Darren throwing things downstairs. He must have just gotten home from the bar, which meant he was drunk and ready to fight.

He heard a scream, and then Dean rustling in the bed above him, and he turned, watching the thin feet going down the steps. He sat up, biting his bottom lip. Dean made his way to the closet, grabbing a t-shirt and shoving it on, pulling something else out of the closet-a bat. Sam remembered when Dean brought it home, from money he and Steve had accumulated, there for the protection of their brothers.

"Dean-" The teenager didn't jump, simply turning to look at Sam.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered his brother, the sound of the muffled curses of Darren downstairs.

"Dean, please-" Sam begged, face nearly over run with tears.

"I-Sammy, I have to. It's what heroes do."

The word made Sam smile, but his face soon returned to frustration at his brother having to go save the world, again. "Even if it's gonna get them killed?"

"Yeah. I'll be back, though, don't worry. Just go back to sleep-if someone comes up here, pretend you were asleep. You got me?" Sam nodded, wanting to beg his brother again to stay, but knowing Dean wouldn't.

He was a hero, after all.

Dean padded down the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky fifth one, waiting on the landing, piercing eyes watching the two bodies, the man throwing a woman onto a couch. He gripped the bat more firmly as he made his way forward, staying out of the path of the woman as she was pushed toward the hallway, and stepping in between the helpless victim and inebriated assaulter.

"Dean, stay out of this," Elle said, grabbing at the boy's shoulders. He shoved her off, swinging the bat, catching Darren in the stomach. The man blanched, but grabbed the bat, shoving it back into Dean, leaving him breathless, hunched over. The man grabbed the half-empty vodka bottle, slamming it against Dean's cheek.

He felt blood everywhere, burning with the mix of alcohol. His head pushed the pain away, hands automatically punching, as they were taught and carefully trained by John to do when he was attacked.

But Darren was 6'4, easily 300 pounds of solid muscle. He shoved Dean back, making the teen gasp as the counter slammed into his back. And then came the slew of punches, over and over again, pounding on his head.

Dean wasn't going out like this. He grabbed the man's arm, wrenching it away from him. Darren drunkenly punched him again, then slammed the side of his face onto the counter. "Darren, stop!" he could faintly hear Elle yell, but his eyes were too blurry and unfocused to see anything. He dunked under one of the punches, his feet trying to carry him towards the steps, but they got tangled in one another and he tripped. Darren grabbed the front of his shirt, punching him once, twice, three times in the gut, and then pushing him hard.

And he heard the glass shatter as his back hit it, his foot catching the steel frame of the sliding glass door as he fell, skin ripping as glass pierced the back of his leg, cutting through the cheap, thin drawstring pants and the flesh.

He wanted to fight, to be the underdog and win, but his body was so_tired_. He was so tired. He just wanted a little nap. A little one, and then he'd go back to fighting.

--------

"Dean? Dean, wake up. Dean-" Sam shook his brother's shoulder, tears streaking down his face as he looked around the hellhole of a closet, searching for a light. His fingers trailed the walls, but he couldn't find anything.

He had been from his bed shortly after his brother had left the room, the drunk muttering something about the bastard and his spawn. Sam wanted to point out that he and Dean were brothers, not father and son, but wisely kept his mouth shut in fear of whatever the big man would do to said sibling. He was shoved in the closet, and he had tripped over Dean's body. He had felt that pendent-he had given Dean that pendent two years ago at Christmas-and he knew.

His hero had fallen.

Sam heard a sound outside the cheap oaken door, but he couldn't concentrate on that. They had been in here for _hours_, and who knew how badly his brother was hurt. From the sounds he had heard last night, it had been a bad fight.

He heard footsteps, coming closer, and Sam turned once again to the spot his brother was laying in. "Dean, someone's coming!"

"Sssssssaaaaaaaammmm?" Dean slurred, fog still running loose all over his head. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he could barely hear-but he could sure as hell hear Sam's pleas. Sam wrapped his brother in a hug, and both ignored the hurt in Dean's side, his back-his God forsakin' _head_. "Sssaaam, turn on…turn lights…" He was having trouble forming sentences, but, he didn't think that was unusual, given the fact that making coherent thoughts wasn't so high on his priority list at the moment.

"I can't find the light switch. Dean, someone's coming. I-"

Both brothers stopped talking, waiting with bated breath, as the door unlocked.

"Get behind me-" There they were, slowly coming back. Welcome back, thought. Using a hurt hand, he pushed Sam behind his shaking body, trying to focus on the door. Focus came with headaches, though, and he turned his head away, closing his eyes as pain washed over. Sam's hand was on his shoulder, comforting him, trying to tell his brother that he didn't have to be brave all the time.

The door was pulled open, and lights blinded the room. Dean's eyes slammed shut, the light sending blinding pain through his body. He hid Sam very carefully behind him, protecting him from anything that was coming.

The soft touch on his cheek nearly made him cry out, but he settled for a slight groan as he opened his eyes, the lights having been discarded moments ago.

Two brown eyes stared back at him, wide-eyed. A _cop _stared back at him. "Son, can you hear me?" Dean nodded, biting back pain. "There's an ambulance coming. You'll be out of here soon, I promise, bud. Who hurt you?"

"Our damn foster father hurt him!" Sam shouted. "You people-you thought this place was _safe_? We were safe with our father, and then you sent him away. Look at what you've caused!"

"Son-"

"My name isn't son, and you sure as hell don't have the right to call me it," the younger Winchester snapped, eyes turning to his older brother, getting his first good look at the injuries. Cuts and lacerations ran down the swollen side of Dean's face, and blood marred the torn skin. Sam was sure he probably cracked his cheekbone. His lip was split, and several cuts decorated the rest of his face. The back of his shirt was covered in blood, and Sam dared not guess what was wrong. And his leg…something was wrong with his leg. "Holy crap. Dean, did he hit you with something?"

"The vodka bottle," Dean murmured, planting his hands firmly, trying to will himself to stand.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, following his brother up, reaching out as Dean tumbled forward. "Dean, you can't walk anywhere. We need to get you fixed up first."

"Need Dad…to hunt demon." Sam smiled, pushing his brother's blood-soaked hair off his face.

"No, Dean. We'll get Dad soon, I promise." He glanced at the cop, who was nodding towards the paramedics, leading two stretchers over.

"Son-" the cop was calling for Sam. He glared at the man, but didn't say anything. "Why don't you come out of there so the paramedics can get your brother out? You can stay right here, with him-they just need a little room to work."

Sam nodded, standing up. "Dean, did you hear him?" the elder Winchester nodded. "I'll be right beside you."

The officer helped him out, and he watched, watched as the paramedics entered the "room" with various bags of medical supplies, a neck brace and a back-board. They quickly pressed a thick wad of gauze onto the side of Dean's face, soothing voices whispering to him when he struggled.

"What's his name, kid?" one of medics called back to the younger boy.

"Dean."

"Dean, how old are you?"

"Six-sixteen."

"Do you have a car?"

" 'mpala. With Dad."

"Where's your father?"

"Don-Don't know. He…not-"

"Okay. We're going to lift you onto the backboard, and strap you in. Try to not move too much, okay? I know you hurt, and we'll try to fix that as soon as we can."

"Sammy?" Dean breathed out, feverish green eyes finding his brother's. The medic looked back at Sam.

"He'll be right there. Right beside you."

They finally managed to get Dean onto the stretcher, strapping the backboard to it. He reached out his hand, and Sam grabbed it, holding it close.

And he had a feeling that things might be okay.

-------

Bryan Ellis was in hell. He was in his car with no air conditioning, a pile of folders resting in his passenger seat precariously, driving nearly 80 on I-70, a cell phone in his hand, trying to stay on the line with both his superior and the doctor at the Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. Plus, he now had to place ten kids in a matter of hours, and somehow locate John Winchester.

This was a nightmare.

Though, he supposed he deserved it. He stuck those kids with someone who was hurting them-he should have known better, should have believed Dean, maybe should have driven up to check on him. He just thought the kid was still bitter about being removed from his father's care.

He had been on the road for two and a half hours, gotten lost twice, but he finally pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, parking in the specially-designated _State Official_ spot near the emergency room. He straightened his tie, grabbing Dean's and Sam's files before leaving his car, hurrying into the ER. A nurse sent him upstairs to the OR, and he found Samuel Winchester in the OR waiting room, quietly reading a book, every couple of seconds, his eyes glancing up to the clock.

"Sam?" His approach was careful, nearly reproachful, waiting for the anger and the violence. Sam watched him calmly, hands clenching around his book.

"You're going to be in big trouble," the kid said matter-of-factly, eyes on the man. "My dad is going to kill you."

"Sam, I know this is a difficult time-"

"Mr. Ellis?" Bryan turned, looking at the well-dressed woman who had come into the OR with a can of Sprite, and a folder eerily similar to his. "Sam, here's you a Sprite. I got your dad. He's on his way, but it's going to be three or four hours. We got him a plane, though, so…he's coming."

"Excuse me?" Bryan interrupted. "John Winchester is a dangerous man-"

"Anymore dangerous than the guy you placed these two with? John Winchester didn't hit his boys. I've tried to call you. I'm Penelope Antoine, a Child Advocate for this hospital. There was an emergency meeting between the head honchos of the Winchester case, and they decided that John deserved full custody back. Have you not been looking over this case? Winchester was ready to take his kids back months ago. He's got a steady home, a steady income, good reports from social workers in Kansas, and yet his kids have remained out of his custody-"

"He beat his son. Multiple times. There are hospital records-"

"Of accidents. _One_ hospital reported it as abuse, and the others saw it for what it was-a kid growing up."

"Lady-"

"Penelope. Do **not** call me lady. These boys-did you check on them at the house? Sam says Dean has had multiple bruises from multiple beatings-"

"I checked on them once a month-"

"That's a lie," Sam cut in, both adults turning to look at him. "You check on us _once_. The rest of the time, Dean called, and you wouldn't listen. He _told_ you! If you'd come by, you would have seen the bruises, and how thin he is. You would've seen it!" The woman went to Sam, giving him a sad smile.

"Bud, calm down. Everything's gonna be all right, remember? The doctor said Dean's going to be okay."

"He's my brother. I can't lose him."

"Oh, honey, you won't," Penelope promised, hugging Sam tightly, glaring at Bryan. "Why don't you finish reading your book? The police said they'd be back by to finish asking you some questions, and I know you want to be done with your book." Sam nodded, giving Bryan one last hateful look before returning to his book, his fists finally unclenching.

Dean had been in surgery for hours. The doctor had come out soon after the cops left, just to tell Sam that he was doing all he could and that he _thought_ Dean would be fine. Thinking was so much different than _knowing_, but it was what he'd have to settle with until he was sure.

The fact that his father was coming reassured them even more. With Dad there, everything would be okay. Dad could always make things better, those sometimes he was a little forceful with it. He did, eventually, make everything good. And then they could go home, and go back to being normal.

For once, Sam missed being normal. Or, at least normal for his family.

Exactly one hour, twelve minutes, and forty-nine seconds later, Doctor John Hardgrave led the thin boy to his brother's room, a comforting hand on his shoulder the whole time. "Remember, Sam, he just got out of surgery, so he still looks really bad. He isn't awake, but it's better that he rests." Sam nodded, tucking the information into his brain so that he wouldn't be surprised.

Dean looked small in the bed, nearly dwarfed, and Sam couldn't see one side of his face for the bandages. His leg was out, resting on a pillow, swathed in thick bandages.

He looked wonderful to Sam.

-------

"So, he heard a noise?"

"A scream…I guess it was Elle. I woke up, and I could hear him above me, getting out of bed. He went to the closet, and pulled out a bat. He and Steve bought it, in case Darren ever went after me or Doug," Sam whispered, pulling his legs up to his chest as his expressive green eyes began to well with tears. "He…he's always had this pension for saving people. I guess he thought he could do it with her."

"A lot of the kids said he took the blame for them? When they got in trouble?" the young officer prompted the child, and Sam recognized him from the house-he was the guy that found them. He nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip.

"He…he couldn't stand to see them in pain. Even though they got on his nerves and irritated him, he still couldn't stand for them to get beat."

"Okay, so he went downstairs?"

"Yeah. All I heard was crashing and…just groans of pain and Elle yelling. When he didn't come back, I knew something was wrong."

"Why?"

"It was one of Darren's tactics. He liked to starve Dean, let him go days without eating. He also liked to throw Dean in the Closet-that place you found us. When Dean didn't come back, I knew that's where he was. And then-and then they came and got me."

"Do you know what time?"

Sam shook his head, peeking at his brother as he made a noise, half pained. Dean moved in the bed, but didn't wake up. Sam smiled, turning back to the officer. "We weren't allowed to keep clocks. They woke us up at 7, and we had an hour and thirty minutes to make it to school."

"No breakfast?"

"Never breakfast. Elle was too busy trying to get the younger ones ready, and Darren was too busy sleeping off a hang-over."

"And you told Ms. Antoine that your social worker never came?"

"Once, when we first got there. After that, Dean called him a couple times, but he didn't believe Dean."

"Dean told him about being hit?" Sam nodded, his long brown hair flopping in his eyes. "He didn't do anything?"

"I guess he thought Dean was just trying to make trouble, because of him taking us away from Dad."

"When was that?"

"October. Dean had gone to a bar and gotten hurt, and he thought that Dad beat him up. By my Dad would never hurt us. He was always protecting us." The officer patted his knee, standing up.

"That was it for now. I'll be back later to talk to Dean, okay? And kiddo, he's going to be fine. You just have to believe it." Sam smiled, dunking his head so the officer couldn't see as he left. He felt Dean's hand close around his fingers, and his smile grew ten-fold as his brother's eyes opened, his left one only by centimeters.

"I've been waiting forever for you to wake up."

Dean smiled, weakly pushing Sam's shoulder. "You…okay?"

"Yeah, just some bruises where Darren pushed me. A lot better than you, that's for sure."

"As long…as long as you're safe," Dean murmured, closing his eyes, frowning, and then opening them again. "It's…hard…"

"To stay awake?" a voice guessed, and two sets of eyes looked up at the graying doctor that had led Sam to his brother. "As it should be. You should be resting."

"Who are you?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes, the man not familiar.

"I'm the one who sewed Humpty-Dumpty up again. Dr. Hardgrave, Dean. It's a pleasure to finally meet the alive you." Dean nodded, taking the man's hand. "You're going to be fine, with a little physical therapy and a little rest. You might even come away from this with no physical scars-well, except for your leg. We had to put nearly fifty stitches in it."

Dean opened his mouth, but the doctor shook his head. "You don't want to talk to much. When all the pain meds and the sedatives wear off, you're going to regret talking. You fractured your cheekbone, and with all the lacerations around that area, it's going to be pretty painful until it heals." Dean nodded, closing his eyes, the sedatives finally gripping him once again, pulling him back to a luxurious, dreamless sleep.

"Will he be all right?"

"Yes, Sam. He's just resting. Even heroes need rest."


	3. Realizations

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I do not own Supernatural. So there.

**Author's Notes:** This is the last chapter. I think it makes sense, but maybe that's just because I starred at it for hours on end. It's the last chapter (epilogue is already written and should be up on Thursday. Also, I _think_ I'm going to be writing a one-shot dealing with the day Mary died-what if John wasn't there, and it was up to Dean to save his family? Just a little one-shot. I also _might_ try to take on a larger story, but I don't know if I'll be able to do the show _Supernatural_ justice with a larger story, so, that might be on the backburner for awhile. Plus, I'm coming up on my first round of tests for school, so I might not be able to write. So...enjoy, and thank you for the comments, and tell me what you think of my one-shot idea. I'd love to hear from you.

Thanks,

Sammi

**Three: Realizations**

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, April, 1996_

John stroked Dean's hair, watching the smooth rhythm of the heart monitor as he slept. Dean looked so young when he slept, so vulnerable and exposed. He couldn't hide the pain that made his face contort in agony, only for his brain to figure out that that hurt to and quickly straighten for fear of further repercussions.

His attentions turned to Sam, head resting on the other side of Dean's bed, his body too exhausted to make it to the cot the nurse had brought for him. "Sam?" he whispered, watching his youngest jerk up, face clouding over. "Sammy, it's okay. I'm here now."

"Dad?" he called, rushing forward, around Dean's bed until he was safely in his father's arms. "You're late."

John laughed, picking his boy up easily. "Had to drive to Kansas City, then from Philadelphia to here. I'm actually doing pretty good on time," he answered, pushing the brown hair off his son's forehead. "You need a haircut."

"I need my father," Sam replied poignantly, and John nodded. "We both do."

"Well, I'm here now, Sam. I would have been here earlier, if I had known where you two were being held. I would have come for you."

"You didn't know? How could you not know? Why didn't you have Bobby look for us, or Jim, or Caleb? Why did you just leave us?" Sam whispered, hurt running across his eyes. John sighed, putting Sam down. He kneeled, ignoring his popping joints in favor of Sam's face, wet with tears as he got himself worked up.

"I had to play by their rules to get you back, Sammy. They aren't demons; I can't just kill them if they attack."

"But they hurt Dean. They hurt me."

"I know, buddy. I-I know. And I will take care of that-they won't ever hurt you again. But before, I didn't want anything happen to give them the chance to keep you away from me forever, buddy. Do you understand? Even a little?"

Sam nodded uncertainly, not sure if he truly understood or if he just wanted the conversation to be over. He realized that he had missed his father. No matter how many times John moved them, making Sam have to start over, with new friends, a new story, he was still his father, and would protect them with everything he ever had.

Kinda like Dean.

"I love you, Sammy." John was never about his emotions, so Sam figured that that one slip was all he was going to get, but it was okay, because that one slip was enough.-enough to banish ideas that John loved hunting more than his sons. He wouldn't think like that. He just _had _to believe differently.

The kind hand on Sam's shoulder left, and the short boy traveled after his father, to the edge of Dean's bed. "Doctor Hardgrave said he needed rest. But he's been sleeping _all _day."

"Let him sleep, Sammy," John whispered, eyes turning gentle at his eldest. Dean had always been the one to get John's hard eyes. Dean didn't have the duty to be the baby of the family; he had the duty to be a grown-up and take care of his brother and his father. So, Dean didn't get the gentle eyes, just the hard ones, the disappointed ones, the angered ones…

Was that worse than actually physically beating his son?

John's hand trailed to the scars on Dean's arm, the last remnants of the injury that had gotten them into this mess. When he saw a fading bruise, he turned to Sam, who shrugged, eyes downcast. "Darren like to hit the weak spots. Maybe because they were his only weak spots-he wouldn't let Darren hurt me, and he wouldn't break at the man's comments about our family-so Darren could only find physical spots to rip in to."

----------

There was a bar across the street, and John struggled long and hard to stay away from it. Before, it was nothing new for him to go have a drink (or two, or three) when his day had been bad.. But the memory of Dean in that hospital bed-the repercussion of his sacrifice for his brother-stopped him. That slashed face, the awful memories that caused Dean to shake with nightmares…it all stopped him.

His sons needed him.

He climbed up the stairs, figuring six floors of a climb would help relieve any tension he had. The conversation with Sam made him on edge around his youngest; who was he to tell John he hadn't tried hard enough? He tried damn hard, and exhausted all his non-magical efforts. He had played by _their_ rules, done everything he needed to, and the social worker had said that it would be enough, enough to get his boys back.

But then she couldn't find his boys. Anywhere.

John had been enraged. He went on a hunting spree, found every supernatural thing living in or near Lawrence. He had slaughtered them mercilessly, blaming them-their kind-for Dean getting hurt, for them getting taken. It was _their_ fault.

And then he had cracked when he realized that some of that was his fault, as well. Dean should have been better protected when he got hurt. John should have been more worried about his sons than the demon-

But that was the past.

And now he had a chance to change it.

Dean's door was open, and he smiled as he saw Sam climb into his brother's bed. "Are you all right?" Dean asked in a whisper, grimacing as he talked.

"Better than you, big brother. You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have gone in there."

"He would have killed her," Dean murmured, looking away from his brother. Sam didn't get the white-knight need Dean had; he needed to save everyone around him; maybe then, he could save himself.

"He could have killed you!" Sam replied, tears running down his cheeks. "What would I do if I didn't have you? You can't be that miserable that you want to kill yourself this way!"

"That's not it, Sammy. It's…it's more that by saving them, I know I can save you when the time comes."

"And in the meantime, it's okay if you get yourself killed?"

John sucked in a breath, this the first time he had every heard anything like this from Dean. Dean didn't know how much he was loved, how much he was needed. John didn't know what he'd do without his eldest son. Dean was the glue that held their small family together, and without him, he knew Sam would ultimately fall apart.

He would ultimately fall apart, too.

--------

His dad had given him money to go downstairs and get something to eat, but instead Samuel Winchester ended up on the roof top, watching the lights of speeding cars pass by below him. Tears ran from his eyes, and for once he didn't feel the need to stifle them.

Dean's oblivions to his self-destructive nature were making him cry. God, he though his big brother was perfect, and now having to realize that that was far from the case-it made Sam cry even more.

Sam had always held Dean on a platform-partly because that's were John had always made Sam feel that that was where his brother was, and partly because Dean's actions made him seem to be on that platform. Dean always took care of him, helped him with bullies, gave him lunch money when their father forgot-that was Dean's job, to be a parent when John wasn't there.

And being on that platform made Sam forget that Dean was still a kid, just like him, and still had things he was trying to work on. Dean wasn't a perfect image, far from it, in fact, marred just like he was.

Their years of fighting the good fight-of solving everyone else's pains and woes-had made them turn deaf ears to their own.

And it had nearly gotten Dean killed.

It didn't matter that, in some way, Dean was doing his job. He was solving someone else's problems. But, he was being the White Knight in doing it, and acting in that self-destructive manner that Sam thought would be the end of him. Dean was so concerned about preparing to save him when the time came-_if_ the time came, that he had never really worried about what would happen if he wasn't around when Yellow-eyes came for Sam.

But Sam didn't want Dean around for protection. Sure, it had helped with bullies at school, with Darren, sometimes even with his father (especially when Sam wanted to hang at the house when John went hunting-_ "Dad, just let him stay here and read his book. He's already behind on his homework, and I'll be here to watch him"_), but most importantly, Dean was Sam's big brother and _best friend._ Sam didn't think he could stand to lose that.

He let himself cry and few more minutes, then wiped at the tears, knowing there would be questions if he returned to Dean's room with puffy eyes and tear marks down his face. As soon as he was sure none would be the wiser, he returned to his brother's room. The doctor was there, a tray by his side, a nurse there as well. "Dean, we're gonna clean off your face. And it's going to be painful, but breathe and try to relax."

And then the bandage came off, Dean whimpering with pain. Sam immediately climbed onto the bed, surprised Dean took his hand, even more surprised when he squeezed it tight as pain overwhelmed him. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…" he kept murmuring as the tape from the bandage was pulled from sensitive skin near one of the lacerations.

"I know, Dean," Dr. Hardgrave soothed, nodding toward the inflamed skin, still irritated from the alcohol that had mixed with the open wounds the day before. Sam could also see a long cut that ran down the side of Dean's face, other smaller cuts peppering around it. His cheek is bruised, but Sam assumes that it's bruising surrounding the fracture. "Does it hurt to talk?"

Dean nodded, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing. "We're just going to wipe your face off, and put this cream on there. It should help with the inflammation and some of the pain. It's going to sting for a minute, okay?" Dean nodded again, loosening his grip on Sam's hand.

He hated being so vulnerable, especially in front of the little brother he was supposed to protect, but it just…damn, it hurt so much. When the doctor started with the thick ointment, Dean felt himself blinking back tears at the burning sensation his skin felt. He started struggling, trying to get away from the bed, from the doctor that was doing this to him; he did not want to humiliate himself in front of these people. In front of his brother. He couldn't. Sam couldn't see anyone other than the hero. _Ever_.

John Winchester came flying in, racing toward the room when he heard Dean curse. "Sssh, baby," he whispered, in the same gentle tone he had used when Dean had been asleep, hugging his son. Dean couldn't stop the tears, try as he might, and sobbed into his father's shirt. "It's okay, Ace. Calm down-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dean kept whispering, his defenses, all his pretenses, finally falling, leaving the rough, beaten shape of a boy behind.

--------

"Remember, John, you can't hurt him, or all this stuff that you've worked for-Sam, Dean-all of them will be gone," Penelope counseled the man as they headed toward the CPS building.

"Have you seen Dean? He's broken! That bastard-"

"John, I know, but you have to remember that he is a public official-I'm sure in some way he was trying to help your boys-"

"But he didn't. He hurt them."

"I know, " Penelope said again, smiling as he opened the door. "But you can't let him get to you. If you give him one ounce, he will take a mile."

John nodded uncomfortably, following the woman down the friendly looking hall. He ignored two social workers leading small children to offices, one clutching a teddy bear and crying. John wasn't naïve enough to think that CPS didn't help kids-it got a lot of them out of sticky situations which were only dragging them down. Unfortunately for Brian Ellis, his kids weren't some that needed help, and he ended up hurting more than anything.

"How was Dean when you left?" Penelope asked, trying to make some sort of conversation to fill the void.

"He was sleeping, so I don't really know. The doctor kicked me out after they gave him a sedative; Sam's in there with him, so I feel safe leaving him alone. If not, I wouldn't be here," John replied in a clipped tone, looking through the glass at the man sitting at the head of a conference table, folders in front of him.

"Remember: calm is key," Penelope whispered to John as she led him into the room, raising an eyebrow at two officers that joined Ellis. "Mr. Bryan Ellis, this is John Winchester." Ellis held his hand out, and John refused to take it, glaring at the man. "And who did you think to bring?"

"This is Officer Emma Graves and Officer John Reardon. Officer Reardon was part of the group that raided the motel where the Winchester boys were staying. Officer Graves questioned them at the station," Ellis explained as John sat, across the table, as if challenging Brian's authority. "Mr. Winchester, on behalf of the Cleveland Child Protective Services, I'd like to issue you an apology. We let your sons slip through the cracks, and that had pretty dire consequences."

"Maybe you should be apologizing to my boys. I believe the first words should be 'I'm sorry, you were right; you were safer with your father'." John smirked. "Or something to that effect."

"Unfortunately, Ms. Antoine went ahead with a motion to return custody to you. I still believe that you are very dangerous-"

"I'm not dangerous. For God Sakes, _you_ busted me on charges that you couldn't even make stick. You took away custody of _my_ children for no reason. I'm not gonna lie to you, Mr. Ellis-I'm out for blood. For my children's sake-which was the exact thing you were neglecting when you took them from me."

"Now, Mr. Winchester-" Ellis stuttered, clearly surprised to hear John's words. "Surely you aren't saying that we owe you some…monetary amount?"

"I would think you should start by paying Dean's medical bills. It is, after all, _your_ fault he's there."

"Of course-that was already taken care of. I've been allotted fifty thousand dollars to cover Dean's medical expenses; however, if the bill exceeds that much, I'm afraid-"

"You really, _really_ don't want to argue with me. Especially when it comes to _my_ kids."

"Well, I'm sure the amount won't total more than fifty thousand. Now, though I'm weary of releasing your kids back to your care, I will be willing to sign off on the custody order under two conditions: first that you have a weekly inspection by a social worker, for at least a year, and second that your kids meet twice a week with a social worker to go over their home life-"

"No way! You think I'm going to allow you to drag Sam and Dean through any more of this _shit_?-"

"Mr. Ellis," Penelope interrupted, giving John a cold stare before turning back to the sweating social worker. "Mr. Winchester, under the emergency custodial papers that were signed by Judge Thompson in Topeka just yesterday. Judge Thompson found your acts of negligence highly reprehensible, citing that Mr. Winchester passed all home inspections and personal interviews months ago. Furthermore, he stated that you are directly responsible for keeping this family apart any longer than necessary because you didn't come-not once-to Kansas to see Mr. Winchester's home environment for yourself, nor did you contact social workers in Lawrence. Don't worry, all of this has been sent to your boss."

Ellis paled a little more, turning to Emma. "We both agreed that it would be better for the children to stay away from their father for some length of time in order to be sure that any hold he might have over them was removed-"

"I don't see where it says that Officer Graves in an expert at childcare," John commented, raising an eyebrow. "But, don't worry-the fact that you listened to her 'sound' advice won't help your standing with your boss. Cause see, we've already had a talk with him, and he's already signed the papers to give me my kids back-no strings attached. He's also already issued me a heartfelt apology-and one to my kids as well. So, we really don't need to sign off on any of _your _conditions, now do we?"

----------

The scratch of the door was the first thing that woke Dean up. It was just breaking into nightfall, but he'd been sleeping all day-well, since that incident this morning. He dreaded seeing his father; John would chide him about how men didn't cry and how he thought Dean was a man, and it'd be almost too much to bear.

At the sound of another scratch, Dean's eyes were wide, hands gripping the side of his bed to try and pull himself into a less vulnerable position. He searched around for a weapon, but then he realized he was probably too weak to lift it.

Whoever had invaded his room moved closer, and Dean tried to remain calm, to not show the fear that was racing around inside. And then they leaned closer, and he closed his eyes…

"Ace, you okay?"

A shaky sigh of relief, followed by a small smile to his father. "Yeah. What the hell are you doing, sneaking in here like that?"

"I just…the nurses weren't letting me past and I just…I needed to make sure you were okay. From this morning. I know it was-"

"Not my shining moment?" Dean answered, giving his father a smile. "I…I feel better."

"I hope so. Dean, I just-you shouldn't have to feel sorry and apologize every single time something happens. You're only sixteen, you can't help it any more than me or your brother can. And I know that I put a lot of stuff on you-a lot with Sammy and hunting and…I shouldn't have. You are just a kid yourself."

"But, Dad, I don't mind taking care of Sammy, I really don't. It was…just, without you there, and with Darren and Ellis and everyone else who didn't believe me-I couldn't protect him. I couldn't be the hero he expects me to be."

John smiled wryly, climbing onto the bed with his son in a moment of fatherly intention, wrapping his arm around Dean and letting someone support _Dean_ for once. "Dean, Sam expects you to be nothing more than his big brother. And he knows that you will never fail at that task. Being a hero just kinda comes ingrained in you."

For awhile, father and son sat, the tension that had flooded their small family finally rolling over, no last hurrah to be seen or heard. Then Dean laughed, and John looked at him curiously.

"I was crying. Being emotional. Like a girl. Like _Sam_." John smiled, and new they were back to a semi-relative normal for the Winchester clan.

For at least that night.

**-Fini-**


	4. Once Again

**Disclaimer:** I don't own-very unfortunate, I know.

**Author's Notes:** Well, this is it. The five hundred word epilogue. Thank you so much for the attention you've given this story, and hopefully I'll right something again. Soon.

**Epilogue: Once More**

_Lawrence Kansas (or somewhere there abouts), October 1996_

"Dean, behind you!" John called, eyes widening as his son was sent flying be the angry possessed human. He glared at Sam, who was hidden behind the outcropping of rocks, trying to finish the exorcism without being detected. John gripped his gun, having to think about not pulling the trigger, that there was an innocent person in that possessed body, but it was hard, watching Dean hit the ground hard a few feet from where he previously stood.

He was shaky at best when he got up, but it gave Sam enough time to finish the exorcism. He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs from his brain. He coughed, hands coming to cradle his sore ribs. "Anything broken?" John asked, concerned, his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean-"

"I…" he gasped, trying to draw in another breath before he passed out or something. "I…I'm fine. Just…hurts."

"We'll have Jim look at it when we get back to the house." Dean nodded. How he loved the sweet taste of normalcy.

It had been nearly a year since he had been on any kind of hunt. He was in the hospital for two more weeks, and then his father was being over-protective. He had to _beg_ to come on a hunt, and even then it was only the simplest of tasks: guarding the car, doing the research-God, he was becoming more skilled than Sam at those Latin books.

But, finally, _finally_, he truly got to hunt…

And he was getting hurt.

"Dean, you still with us?" He turned to his father and nodded, giving him a smile.

"I'm fine, Dad. Just sore."

"Let's get home then. Sammy-" the twelve-year-old came running out, grinning from ear-to-ear. He loved when his father let him read those books. Since the boys had come home, John had had to be more careful about what he exposed his boys to-he had learned his lesson.

Pastor Jim was waiting at their house, as so often the case when there was a hunt. He nodded to John when he came into the house, glancing at Dean, who was walking gingerly. "What happened to you?"

"That thing got the better of me."

"Do you have anything broken?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Why don't you go lay down, Dean? Get some rest. I'll come see you later," John ordered, nodding to the hallway. Dean sighed, trying to hold in his exasperation. And he thought they were back to normal. "And Dean?" He turned, expecting some sappy saying that his father had started soon after he got home. He was just so sick and tired of the fatherly love. Sure, in the beginning it was great. But now, he kind of wanted his old life back. "Next time, look both ways."

Dean smiled.


End file.
